


U Up?

by iloveyoudie



Series: Sure would be a bummer if he got shot and died... [3]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack Relationships, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Boyfriends, Failed Booty Calls, M/M, Modern Era, Shared Meals, Two Actual Idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23565739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveyoudie/pseuds/iloveyoudie
Summary: He breezed past the strangely named contacts of his dating graveyard. There was ‘Fingers???’ and ‘No!!!’ and ‘Psycho’ and ‘Queen Bee’ and ‘Royal Arms’. Oh he was fit, he remembered him. But George reversed and scrolled back up and let his thumb hover over ‘Hotbox’, the DI’s personal mobile (not to be confused with his work mobile listed very clearly as ‘DI Ronnie Box’), and after a moment’s hesitation sent a message.
Relationships: George Fancy/Ronnie Box
Series: Sure would be a bummer if he got shot and died... [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695859
Comments: 12
Kudos: 30





	U Up?

George threw himself into the mess of his bed with a huff, phone held out in front of him as he scrolled through his contacts for an idea of how to spend his evening. They’d closed a case earlier in the day and being a Friday with nothing pending that couldn’t wait, he’d been dismissed a couple of hours early. Morse had stayed of course, shot him a look of bored disappointment as George loosened his tie and snapped up his phone from the desktop. He’d long since stopped trying to impress the other man, that’s what he told himself anyway. If DCI Thursday was their work dad, then Morse and George were the feuding siblings with conflicting dispositions. He’d never quite worked out if Morse or Strange was the older brother in this fantasy familial trio. Jim was just the sane one - so probably the middle sibling - overlooked for the noise of the other two.

The summer was bearing down hot and fast and by the time George had got back to his flat he was sweating bullets. He’d heaved open every window when he’d gotten in, not a stitch of a curtain on any of them, then gone for a shower and now he was laying in his bed still damp as he waited for the cross breeze to finally cool him down.

On a Friday night he should’ve been going out. He’d gotten into this police gig for the social angle (and the justice bit... obviously... _obviously_ ), and if he’d been in the section house still he’d probably already be drinking, but now that he was in his own flat it was harder to get included into the lads’ plans. Laying in a soft comfortable bed after a week of a murder case with Morse running lead made getting dressed and going out seem like a lot of effort. He had beer. He had internet. He could order in some food… maybe chinese..

George kept scrolling through his contacts, over the family names, past his work mates, and finally down to where things got dicey. The deep dark recesses of his contact list were the exes and hook ups and random matches from a dozen and a half dating apps. He’d tried every app at least once and now only kept the two main ones, and even those hadn’t been touched in weeks. Between moving into the flat and the brutal work schedule he hadn’t spent much time worrying about loneliness. He actually, accidentally, sort of, had a few strangely satisfying.. dates? Booty calls? No.. _he really thought they may have been dates but sex had also been involved..._ Yes, George had definitely had a few _dates_ and a few mornings-after with a particular superior of his that he had no business being so into.

He breezed past the strangely named contacts of his dating graveyard. There was _‘Fingers???’_ and _‘No!!!’_ and _‘Psycho’_ and _‘Queen Bee’_ and _‘Royal Arms’_. Oh he was fit, he remembered him. But George reversed and scrolled back up and let his thumb hover over _‘Hotbox’_ , the DI’s personal mobile (not to be confused with his work mobile listed very clearly as ‘DI Ronnie Box’), and after a moment’s hesitation sent a message.

**_U up?_ **

He thought it was funny. A bit funny anyway. Late afternoon, nearly the dinner hour, with a classic booty call line?

Box was professional at work, as professional as he got anyway, and the most acknowledgement of their little fling George had received was a wink in addition to the ‘Oi, Georgie boy-’ and clap on the shoulder that he usually got in greeting from the man around the office. Box didn’t mix with Morse and Strange very well, never had and never would, and he’d been spending more and more time on joint projects with Robbery as the year wore on. George thought that Thursday was trying to keep the peace by assigning him elsewhere, but Morse was also likely in his ear urging it along. George, even though he shouldn’t have, felt rather slighted to be deprived of the man’s presence.

Not as slighted as he felt now though, when the text to Box popped up as being read and he got no response in return.

“Prick left me on read!” George kicked out in agitation, sending half of his bedsheet to the floor.

It wasn’t like there was some obligation there. They weren’t exactly on a schedule or even a semi regular thing but George couldn’t help being tempted to more. He felt absolutely stupid to expect it. Box was one of his superiors and decently older than him, but he'd told George to call him Ronnie and he kissed him like he meant it and he was _very very fit..._

As if it were some sort of retaliation he picked out 5 names from his contact graveyard (no exes and no one with ‘weird’ in their nick) and sent out the same message - **_U up?_**

George wandered now, hauled himself out of bed only wearing his pants and for a full minute he stood in front of the window fan and let it blow over him. He ducked his head down, ruffled his wet hair in front of it, and then looked at his phone again.

It dinged. ‘Garden Gnome’ had popped back with a ‘wrong number’.

“You were shite anyway,” George frowned and moved to the sink and then to the sofa, and by the time he sat down his phone was dinging again. This time it was ‘Holy Roller’ saying ‘who’s this?’

It was better than nothing.

By the time he and Holy Roller had exchanged vagueries George was already bored and it was much too far along in the convo when the other sent back ‘In London this weekend - coffee sometime?’

He was absolutely done with this thing. The other three never answered.

George tossed his phone on the trunk serving as a coffee table, grabbed the PS4 controller off it’s charger, and decided to kill time before he got himself dinner. Maybe this was how single people died in their flats - boredom. He’d barely even started life and he was already doomed to wasting away alone. Next he’d be getting a succulent that would swiftly turn into several, then a real houseplant that he named Eggbert or summat, and then he’d be buying a cat. It was a dangerous spiral that definitely would end with him tweeting his bloody bread making adventures into to the void of the internet…

It was already dark when George jolted out of a video game fueled dead zone. He’d popped on the headset and looked up a few of the lads, popped into a pretty nostalgic Minecraft game, then migrated over into their old fireteam. His phone buzzed on the coffee table, rattling against the wood loud enough to make him jump. He glanced out the windows at the dusky evening and realized he was now sitting in near darkness aside from the glow of the TV and the string of fairy lights behind the sofa.

George flicked on the nearby lamp and rubbed his eyes against the shock as he grabbed his phone and checked his notifications.

“Three hours? _Shit on it.._ ” George frowned and tapped open his messages and his stomach immediately tumbled over itself. One message from Hotbox.

_u up?_

George laughed aloud, much too pleased with himself over such a little thing, “Fucker.”

**_u left me on read u prick_ **

_some of us work a full day_

**_sounds fake_ **

_u home?_

**_ya_ **

_30min_

George felt a giddy smile crack his face, one he swiftly tried to mash down before he realized he was alone and he could be as bloody well pleased as he wanted. He popped to his feet, looked down at himself, and realized he was still in his underwear. He was nervous, butterflies already fluttering through his gut and gullet and battering against the insides of his ribs. He scanned his immediate area and hurriedly snatched up a couple of empty crisp packets and several half-full bottles of water. One of them was given an attempted flip - it bobbled and fell over - and he cursed before continuing along. There were a couple of mugs with bits dried into the bottom and he found a teacup on the windowsill with the teabag dried and stuck to the inside.

By the time he’d cleared up most of the rubbish he was pulling pairs of jeans off the bedroom floor, sniffing them and tossing them back down before he went to a drawer to fish out another pair, musty like the wood and snug from their last washing but it wasn’t anything a bit of Febreze wouldn’t fix. A clean tee was easier and everything else, everything piled and scattered and draped, was eventually tugged onto the floor and subsequently kicked under the bed. Out of sight, out of mind.

George went to wash his face, brush his teeth, have a wee - had he gotten up at all from his game? He couldn’t remember - and after washing his hands and dragging them damp through his hair he checked the time and realized that Box would only be a few minutes out.

George felt antsy, his skin buzzing nervously even though it shouldn’t have been, and he was already thinking about the last couple times they’d gotten together. Mind blowing sex and laying about together, breakfast and surprisingly comfortable everything else in between. He figured anything with Box would have to be casual but George found with each subsequent encounter he got just a little bit more attached.

Shave and a haircut came rapping at the door and George practically leapt to it in his bare feet, sliding with a slight burn before he stopped and yanked it open and found Ronnie Box on the other side, still in his work clothes and clutching a takeaway bag.

“There he is,” Box flashed a crooked smirk, “Stopped for Chinese. I haven’t had dinner.”

“Oh,” George flashed a grin of his own and moved out of the way to let the man in. The smell of the food brought out a sudden gnawing hunger in his own gut. He’d forgotten to feed himself. It had just slipped his mind, “Me neither.”

“You’ll be a bloody rail for life if you don’t feed yourself,” Box was wearing one of those sinfully tight polos and some sort of check patterned trousers that clung in every way that flattered, “There’s plenty enough for two.”

George closed the door as Box continued in straight to the kitchen table where he deposited the bags and started to unpack the containers.

“Posh bloke in Summertown with a bit of pull with the Chief Constable has his knickers all up in a twist about some conspiracy against him-”

George came and hovered by the table, unsure if he should be doing anything in particular, “This from Lun’s?”

“Yeah,” Box looked up at him and then back down to point everything out, “Got chow mein, fried rice, prawn dumplings, some sort of noodle thing with beef and a stupid name-”

“You need a drink?” George’s brain caught up with Box’s movements and he went to the fridge, “Beer or somethin’?”

“Yeah, sure,” Box paused to look at George, a cool and lingering sort of look, and then he flashed that crooked sort of grin again and went back to the food. Empty bags were mashed up and stuffed into one another, “Anyway it’s all stake outs and CCTV footage watching for hours on end. He’s a dealer of antiques or summat he thinks is in danger-”

“Sounds like something Morse would nose into,” George grabbed two bottles, the same beer Box had picked the last time he was there.

“Yeah and hog the bloody glory for himself. And watch your language."

George gave him a puzzled look.

"Ruin a meal talking about Morse," Box snorted.

They had surprisingly similar opinions, George had found out, and overlapping interests, and of course the binding camaraderie of finding Morse to be bloody annoying and up his own arse.

“Anyhow,” Box straightened, “Don’t let me ramble about bloody work once the day's done."

“You were on a roll,” George smirked and set Box’s beer down for him, “But if that’s a rule, I’ll make a note. Sir.”

Box smirked and gave him a wink.

George’s thudding heartbeat had died down somewhere around when Box started unpacking the food but his stomach flutters and a very particular sort of affectionate warmth had spread through him instead. Sometimes he found it hard to believe that Box was so...normal. And comfortable with him. He’d built up so much around the idea of him, and even the reality of him, that it twinged at something else very particular inside of George to see him this way.

In fact, everything was _so_ comfortable and _so_ regular as the minutes wore on that George began to worry that somewhere along the line the two of them had become mates. Proper mates though, the sort who watched football and ate chinese and _didn’t_ snog on the couch or find their way into one another's pants with very little pretense.

“You got something we can watch while we eat?” Box nodded his head in a come hither motion and reached out a hand which rolled at the wrist and beckoned him forward, “C’mere..”

And when George stepped towards him, that hand slid around his waist, under the hem of his shirt, and smoothed along the warm skin of his back. In spite of the cool of the evening breeze still coming through the flat’s open windows, the summer heat still held on Box’s palms and simmered along his skin and George’s worries of platonic brotherhood were immediately erased with a slow kiss. He tasted like the vestiges of a cigarette and whiskey with a bit of mint gum to cover it up. Had he done that on purpose? Tried to spruce up his breath? The idea did something twisty to his insides.

“Alright?” Ronnie murmured to him when they broke apart.

“Yeah, sorry. Was napping before you texted,” It was a lie but easier than saying he’d texted 5 random numbers in his phone, failed at pulling any of them, and then played Call of Duty so long he’d transcended time and space all because the boss he wanted to bugger had left him on read.

"Bit knackered myself, but mostly I'm fuckin starving...” Box didn’t even bother with a plate, he just picked up one of the containers and shoved a fork in it.

“I am too now that there's food,” George finally moved to feed himself and that warm hand on him lingered a moment before Box moved away.

“How’d you know Lun’s chow mein is my favorite?” George also took a whole container himself, piled a couple of dumplings on top, and stuck his own fork in.

Box paused before he plopped into the sofa, gave a cheeky sort of look, and shook his head, “I didn’t. But I do now, don’t I?”

The news was vetoed before the TV control was even picked up and with minimal argument they decided to put on Gogglebox. The pair of men sat wide legged on the sofa side by side, each with a heaping container of food in front of them, and chowed down in silence while hunched over the coffee table like a pair of barbarians.

By the time George was getting to one of the free eggrolls they always threw the bag at the last minute, he mused aloud, "What's society come to when we're watching telly of people watching telly?"

"And it's actually good," Box said as he wiped a napkin over his mouth, "My house'd been a riot if they had this when I was a kid."

"Oh, my parents're dull as dust," George lamented.

"You ever think," Box waved his plastic fork at the television, "That Giles and Mary are probably what Morse and Debryn are like at home?"

George almost choked on his eggroll before he put on a droll accent, “ _You know there’s a world shortage of ripe, ready to eat avocados_?”

The pair of them broke down in laughter.

After a comical run of them recasting Gogglebox with folks from the office, the episode ended and George got up to clean the empties away. Box moved to one of the open windows to have a cigarette. George had been lucky to snag a second floor flat with a shop underneath, there was little danger of bothering someone at night with noise or disrupting a neighbor with odd hours. It was nice that his windows weren’t exactly accessible from the street so he could indulge in having them open almost all the time. Besides the occasional weird shop smell from the street below it was pretty ideal, and now with a periodic visitor, the privacy was all the more appreciated.

George watched Box perched on the sill, one knee up and one arm draped across it as the other moved a cigarette to his lips. He was a bit of a sight there set against the dusky fading light of the Oxford sky. George wasn’t one for pretty words, and compliments came easier and cheaper to pretty girls with no names than they did for someone like Ronnie Box. He was as intimidating as he was attractive and trying to adequately put his admiration into a real sentence often had George tongue tied so instead he just stared like some sort of pining puppy and as soon as he was done tidying up and putting away the few bits of leftovers, he moved closer and pressed himself unabashedly against Ronnie’s side.

Like an automatic instinct Ronnie’s free arm rose and curled around George’s waist to pull him closer. The older man looked up at George beside him and regardless of the smoke, George cradled his face in his hands and leaned in to kiss him. Box’s eyes fell shut and the single slow kiss turned into a chain of them, and as George’s lips parted to deepen it, Box’s cigarette was flicked carelessly out the window still lit so he could turn and pull George into the space between his thighs and grip him more fully in both arms.

George’s heart was thudding hard in his chest when they finally broke apart and he was already getting turned on just from the snogging. Shit, how’d he let this particular man get to him so badly? It was like someone had hammered out all his personal weaknesses and sculpted them into a square jaw and thick chest.. _and those goddamned arms_. Even the bad things - smoking and drinking too much - the whispers around the office that he wasn't always on the up and up - only twinged at something rebellious in him that he couldn’t ignore.

Box’s eyes opened, his face still between George’s palms, as he smoothed his large hands up the younger man’s back and down again until he was gripping his arse.

“You look a bit peaky..” George mentioned. Not that he didn’t look good, cause he had that way about him where he always looked good, but there was fatigue around his eyes, his lids a bit heavy, his usually tense jaw relaxed in an exhausted way.

“Just tired,” Box shrugged, “I feel alright.”

George pushed his hands through Box’s hair and the older man closed his eyes like a sleepy hound relishing and absorbing the attention.

“We don’t have to, um-” George felt the awkwardness surge back again, unsure where their lines had been drawn, unsure if a booty call without the booty was what Box even wanted right now. It didn’t feel out of place, none of this did, and maybe that was the problem.

 _Was it a problem?_ Shit if he knew.

Box snorted, “Fuck?”

George felt his skin heat. Shag would’ve done. Netflix and chill. Hook up. Fumble. Canoodle. Even wank..

He just nodded, “-if you’re tired. Not that you have to leave...”

“Well, thank you for the permission,” Box said sarcastically before he laughed low, one of his big hands walloping a slap onto George’s arse that made him jump lightly in the man’s arms, “You’re a good one, aren’t ya George? A real beauty. I’m gonna ruin you.”

George could tell from the intonation that Box meant in the grand scheme of things, not immediately, and as Ronnie finally moved to stand he backed away and gave him the space. George crossed his arms, lifted his brows, and lifted his chin in defiance of that, “As if I’m not good enough at ruining myself.”

Box gave him a light push, amused that it was something he'd proclaim with pride.

George smiled in challenge, stepped back from the momentum, and shoved him back. It was pretty ineffective against Box's solid shoulder, “As if I’d mind.”

“Well, that bit I believe. Wouldn’t know what was good for you if it bit you in your pretty little arse.”

George couldn’t help relishing in all the backhanded little compliments. He knew that was just how Box talked but even crumbs were food to a starving man, “Only thing biting my arse recently is you, so…”

“Cheeky.”

The pun was absolutely lost on both of them as they came together in another kiss. George was almost sorry he’d abandoned shagging rights for the evening after spending the next few moments grabbing his way across Box’s torso. His chest and shoulders and arms and the ridiculous sort of solid muscled belly that there wasn’t a word for. Yeah, he was right, he was definitely bad for him.

“All arse biting can wait for tomorrow, darlin,” Box finally eased away ungracefully and headed towards the bathroom, “Need a leak.”

George adjusted his jeans with frustration and scrubbed his hands over his face and hair before he grabbed another drink and returned to the couch. His evening hadn’t gone to plan, though he wasn’t sure he’d had one in the first place, but he couldn’t say it was going badly. He flopped down, stretched himself long ways, and let out a yawn of his own just as Ronnie returned with his shoes in hand. He set them down by the bedroom door and joined him, stopping George when he tried to make room, and instead laying down across him. One meaty arm encircled his narrow waist and Ronnie lay in the boat of his legs, head on George’s lower chest, one leg crooked up and the other hanging much too long off the end of the couch.

“More Gogglebox?” George was flushed now, warm and fluttery at being used like a body pillow.

“Don’t care,” Box’s eyes were already closed.

“Got Graham Norton.”

“Don’t care.”

George put a hand through Ronnie’s hair, “The Chase?”

“For fuck’s sake, George,” Ronnie lifted his head, eyes open again, and voice growling with affectionate annoyance, “ _I don’t care._ ”

“Okay, okay,” George didn’t smile until Box’s head was back on his chest and his eyes were closed once more. By the time he’d scrolled through the menu and picked something out he could already hear the other man’s deep and steady sleeping breaths.

He couldn’t help but wonder if he could finagle this arrangement again. Phenomenal sex was one thing, this was something else entirely.

Was there a text code for ‘do you want to cuddle?’.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to flame me over at: http://bryndeavour.tumblr.com


End file.
